


Even Better Than The Real Thing

by rachelladytietjenswrites (heliophilenz)



Series: Carry Each Other [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Multi, Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, all the sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliophilenz/pseuds/rachelladytietjenswrites
Summary: Season 7 AU with researcher Reader, lashings of smut, and a twist at the end.





	1. Give Me One More Chance

 

 

 **Chapter Warnings:** Bad language (gratuitous use of the word fuck), torture, non-con (kiss and grope), angst and despair, the light at the end of the tunnel is Meg?

 

Pain. Oh god, this has gotta be the hangover from hell.

But you haven't been on a bender in years, you can't be hungover. You try to lift a hand to your head, but all that happens is a feeling of pressure on your wrist. Fuck, that can't be good.

Someone has noticed your attempt to move. Dean says, "She's waking up."

You pry your eyelids apart just to wince at a bright light and screw them shut again. The glare seems to shift, so you try again, squinting cautiously to see Sam and Dean bending over you. You're sitting in a chair, arms pinned to your sides, and looking down you can see duct tape around your wrists and elbows. A flex of your legs confirms that you're bound at the ankle and knee as well. A thorough job, but the boys don't usually trust duct tape. It's easily cut and too many of the things they hunt have sharp teeth or claws.

Maybe you're possessed, or cursed or something. And they're protecting themselves from you.

But it was just a salt-and-burn.

Memories bubble to the surface. You were at the motel, research done, waiting for the boys to get back. The smell of mould and cold pizza. The static as you flicked aimlessly through the TV channels. The sound of a key in the door. A rush of strangers into the room. Getting a shot off. Being backhanded into unconsciousness.

And now you're here.

You lift your head to ask what's going on, but you're stopped by the look in their eyes. Cold, flat, like they're looking at a bug pinned to a board. And not a very interesting bug at that.

Sam smiles, and that's the clincher. The last time you saw him smile like that, he was soulless. This can't be Sam. Which means that can't be Dean. And you're fucked, thoroughly and irrevocably. You’re as good as goddamn dead, you just haven’t stopped breathing yet. Because the Leviathan have you.

Not-Dean pulls out a phone and turns away to have a one-sided conversation while Not-Sam watches him intently. "She's awake. Not sure. Okay." He examines his free hand, "Yeah, it's taking, but it's gonna take a while to sort through the memories. It's a shit show in here. Mm-hmm." Not-Dean turns his head to look at you. So does Not-Sam. Not-Dean smiles. "Yessir. With pleasure." He punches a finger at his phone before putting it in his pocket.

Not-Sam's face is eager, in a can-I-wear-her-skin kinda way, as he prompts Not-Dean. "Well?"

"Mister Roman," Not-Dean says sarcastically, "says that as long as she's still breathing after, we can amuse ourselves."

Not-Sam's smile widens into a leer.

You shrink back into the chair as Not-Dean cracks his knuckles.

"Hang on," not-Sam says, "there's something I want to try first."

Suddenly there are fingers digging into the hinge of your jaw, prying your mouth open. Lips on yours, a tongue invading your mouth, a hand clawing at your breast. You can't help but flinch, but there's no way to escape his grasp.

"So?" Not-Dean says as you try to spit the taste of Not-Sam out of your mouth.

"Not sure. You give it a try."

Another invasion, another grope. At least they're not trying to take your clothes off. Yet.

Not-Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ew."

Not-Sam agreed. "Yeah. Don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Doesn't matter, we've got plenty of time to do it the old-fashioned way."

You look up just in time to see the fist coming.

\------

"Open those eyes, sweetheart." Dean. Thank god, it's Dean. They came for you. Wait, no. Dean only calls someone sweetheart when 'asshole' or 'moron' aren't options. You drag an eye open, the other not cooperating, and he smiles when he sees you looking at him. And then he slaps you, hard. "Stupid bitch, you're nothing but dead weight." You whimper, tasting fresh blood.

Sam is kneeling in front of you. "I've got you, you're safe now." You try to reach for him, but the stretch of your fingers has you screaming. Looking down you can see that both hands are mangled. Sam shows his teeth, a predator's smile. "Actually, no, we're safe now that you're out of our hair. Useless whore." An impact, a sharp pain. Maybe a rib breaking?

Another jibe, another blow. And another, and another. You lose track in the timelessness of the assault.

\------

It hurts everywhere. You're dizzy, your ears ring, it's hard to breathe. And you don't quite remember why. You can't open your eyes, stuck in a black world of pain. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to be picked up.

Wait, what?

You're being lifted in someone's arms, the movement driving knives of pain through you in a dozen different places.

Breathing takes almost all of your concentration, but you can't help but notice jostling as you're carried. Heat on your skin and neon blobs on the inside of your eyelids - sunshine? The vibration of an engine, a vehicle.

You're being taken somewhere. They don't have to move you to put a bullet in your brainpan. You're being kept alive.

Disappointment washes you back into unconsciousness.

\------

You're jolted awake. Sitting upright on a bed you see Castiel right in front of you, removing his fingers from your forehead.

You stare at him, trying to remember why you would need healing.

"You will be disoriented," he says, "the damage was extensive and-"

He's interrupted by a voice from behind you. "It worked this time? She's okay?"

You freeze, the whites of your eyes exposed as the world goes fuzzy around the edges. No. Please, no.

When another voice joins the first, calling your name, the adrenaline takes control, propelling you clumsily off the bed and as far away from the threat as you can get. You scramble until you run out of floor, cornered between a wall and kitchen cabinets, panting as you quiver with fear. Blocks of colour and light move in front of you, your eyes refusing to make sense of what you're seeing.

One shape gets closer, a threat until you hear it's voice. The angel. He's repeating your name over and over, a question you don't know how to answer.

You feel the press of fingers on your forehead, and then nothing.

\------

This time the climb out of unconsciousness is slow, your mind gathering the pieces of itself one by one.

This piece is who you are. That piece is the world you live in. This piece...

This piece is being tortured by Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean arguing over how much more damage you can survive. Sam and Dean shaking your blood off their hands.  

You raise your hands to your head as if that will help squeeze the pieces of you together. And then you realise that you're moving, and awake.

You freeze, but there's no reaction to your having awoken. No blows, no questions, no movement.

You open your eyes, taking in your surroundings. No more motel. You're in the sleeping nook in Rufus's cabin. Meg is lounging on the bed opposite, reading a book.

You sit up, surprised at the lack of pain despite remembering Cas healing you.

Meg's head turns, "Hey there sleeping beauty." Her eyes flash black, and tears start in your eyes from sheer relief. She comes and sits next to you, pulling you into a hug. "You did good, princess, real good. I'm glad you made it out." Meg gives you a last squeeze before leaning back. "But if you tell anyone I said that I'll have to kill you. Girl's gotta protect her reputation."

Your laugh is cut short by an almost imperceptible noise from behind the curtain screening the beds from the main. You shrink back behind Meg and look around for a weapon.

"It's just the mountain man and Clarence," Meg says reassuringly. "The Hardy Boys have been sent on a supply run. When you're ready, Grizzly Adams wants to talk to you. We have a plan."

It's a few minutes before you're done tidying yourself up and gathering your courage. Mostly the latter, you admit to yourself as you step into the main room, followed by your very own guardian demon.

Bobby and Cas are at the round dining table, a chessboard mid-game between them.

You take a seat at the table, aware that neither of them is trying to make eye contact with you, which is just as well as you're not sure you want to know what you'd see in their eyes. "You have a plan?"

Bobby picks up his most powerful piece. "We need our queen back on the chessboard with her knights."

You scoff at his analogy. "I'm not a queen. An uppity pawn, maybe, but not a queen."

Cas tilts his head. "Typical Leviathan behaviour would have resulted in your being eaten immediately, or following a successful interrogation. They went to great lengths to keep you alive."

You can't help but frown as you flex your hands, remembering the feel of your bones grinding against each other. Sure as hell didn't feel like they went to 'great lengths' to do anything other than fuck you up.

"The damage was incapacitating but non-fatal, and even after they had finished broadcasting they left your phone hooked up to a charger so that we could locate you. Their focus on operant conditioning consistent with the principles laid down by B.F. Ski-"

"Brainwashing," Bobby interrupted. "They were reprogramming you, but even when they were running out of time...they should have cut their losses and killed you, but they didn't."

You hold a hand up to stop the conversation so you can corral your thoughts. Something about the way Bobby interrupted... It took a while to find the loose thread. You point at Cas. "They were broadcasting?"

"Yes, we received a live feed of your entire ordeal." The idiot angel actually smiled at you, pleased that you had picked up on his snippet of information.

Your mind spun. They had seen everything. The fact that it happened was one humiliation, but having them bear witness? And what had you told the Levis? Oh god, you could have told them everything, endangered everyone.

Meg's hands are on your shoulders. "It's okay, breathe. Big breath in, big breath out. Nice and slow. You can do this for me, c'mon." She must've signalled Cas, because in the next moment there are two fingers on your forehead, and suddenly the tight band around your chest is gone.

You look up at Cas, who frowns down at you before answering your unasked question. "You revealed nothing. Granted, they didn't ask you any questions, but you had opportunities to bargain and you didn't take them."

His words are a small comfort, but you'll take anything you can get at this point. Another couple of deep breaths, and you turn to Bobby. "So your theory is that I'm too valuable to kill and too dangerous to be left with the Winchesters."

Bobby leans forward, trying to rein in his obvious eagerness. "If we can find out why, that could be the advantage that will win this for us."

"Maybe they thought I was someone special to them, that a walking wounded would be more distracting than a funeral pyre." You chuff a humourless laugh. "Or they could have been having too much fun and just forgot about the phone." No-one would look you in the eye. "So what do we do?"

It's Bobby who answers you. "If they want you out of the war, then we need to keep you in. Break the brainwashing. An expert source has come up with a way to desensitise you." Next to you, Meg is pointing at herself, mouthing 'demon', and giving you the thumbs up.

You know you're going to regret asking. "What's the plan, Meg?"

She pulls out the last chair, spinning it around and straddling it with a grin. "I'm glad you asked, contestant number one. You were tortured by two entities. Describe them for me."

You frown, but cooperate. "Two Levis in matching Winchester meat-suits."

"Excellent. They didn't manage to fuck with your grasp on reality. You know they weren't really Sam and Dean. So all we need to work on is your trusting that our Winchesters are the genuine article, and work on defusing the automatic fear response you displayed in the motel."

She's making sense, but you have a feeling that the hammer is about to drop.

"We have proof that the Purgatory escapees are sexless drones that are lacking in the oral arts. So. Sleeping beauty kisses her handsome princes, and voila!"

Yeah, there it is. Complete with a gaping plot hole. "Ah, problem. Every time they're out of my sight they could be replaced with copies. The Levi's must've hit the motel to collect Winchester DNA. There could be hundreds of them out there."

She shrugs. "So? You just keep on kissing them. Wouldn't have thought that'd be much of a hardship."

Oh god, she's serious. Cas is looking at you curiously, and Bobby ... Bobby is blushing.

"Bobby! Seriously?"

He coughs, unable to meet your eye. "Ah, yeah. I think it's worth a try. The boys are okay with it."

Now that short circuits you. They're okay with it. The Winchesters, okay with having to kiss you. "The- They..."

Meg laughs. "Yeah, they put up a token resistance, but they caved pretty quickly." Her tone shifts to something softer, a complex mix of reassurance, envy, and tenderness. "Anything for their Pepper Potts, their Velma, their Hermione."

Of course. I'm a good researcher, an extra brain, and my stitching is tidier than theirs. What's a kiss or two if it keeps someone useful in their orbit?

But a little voice in the back of your head plays devil's advocate. This is the perfect excuse for them to shunt you to the sidelines. Even try to force you into a safe, anonymous civilian life like they keep suggesting. So why haven't they done that, hmmm?

Which is how, an hour later, you found yourself sitting on the bed with Meg while the guys 'set up' in the main room.

Meg tries to catch your eye. "Just chill already. You're in charge, and we'll be there to supervise." She elbows you not-too-gently, "I'm actually hoping my angel will pick up some pointers."

You shoot Meg an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look while she leers cheerfully.

Cas appears in the doorway. "Whenever you're ready."


	2. You'll Be Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some smut !

 

**Warnings:** Bad language (gratuitous use of the word fuck, reclaiming of the word cunt because I hate the word pussy), threesome smut with Sam and Dean (no Wincest)

  
_Which is how, an hour later, you found yourself sitting on the bed with Meg while the guys 'set up' in the main room._

_Meg tries to catch your eye. "Just chill already. You're in charge, and we'll be there to supervise." She elbows you not-too-gently, "I'm actually hoping my angel will pick up some pointers."_

_You shoot Meg an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look while she leers cheerfully._

_Cas appears in the doorway. "Whenever you're ready."_

_\-----_

You stretch your neck and roll your shoulders like a prize fighter about to go into the ring.

"C'mon, champ," Meg says, throwing an arm over your shoulders as she guides you out into the main room.

I can do this.

I can do this.

Look at them.

Go on, do it.

You lift your head to see Sam and Dean are on the small couch, sitting stock still with their hands in plain sight.

A zing of adrenaline stabs through you, all systems on full alert. You close your eyes and suck in a deep breath before opening them again.

After a moment you start noticing details. They're wearing their usual plaid-and-jeans combo. They're clean and comparatively tidy, but they look kinda tired. On your left Sam is giving you those puppy dog eyes, on the right Dean is looking down at his clasped hands with a frown. Worry and guilt, their default settings.

A loud cough from Bobby startles you out of your thoughts and into the here-and-now. A here-and-now where the spitting images of your torturers are right in front of you.

"Hi," you say tentatively.

They look to Bobby, who nods permission.

"Hi." "Hey."

Their voices don't trigger you, which is a surprise. Maybe it's their quiet tone, heavy with concern, or that they still haven't moved. You manage a twitch of your mouth, the smallest facsimile of a smile. With Dean still avoiding your gaze, it's Sam who responds, his chest dropping with a little sigh of relief.

With a deep breath, you step towards Sam, keeping your eyes on the notch at the base of his neck as you move into his personal space. You reach over his shoulder to the back of the couch and gingerly straddle his lap, being careful not to kneel on his hands. His knees take your weight easily, and you put your hands flat on his chest, one right over where you know the anti-possession tattoo is.

He's like a furnace, the heat seeping through your jeans and warming your fingers.

You slowly slide your eyes up until they meet his. The depths in Sam's eyes make it obvious that this is not the creature that broke every bone in your hands, just to see if it could.

You lean in, putting your nose on Sam's neck and inhaling deeply. He smells of, well, Sam, with hints of shaving cream and apple-and-green-tea-shampoo. Your shoulders drop a little as another layer of doubt dissolves.

You lean back to look in his eyes again. It's easier this time.

"Sam," you whisper.

"Whatever you need. It's okay," he says.

You grab a fistful of plaid to steady yourself as you lean in to put your mouth on his.

Sam is still for a heartbeat before his head tilts fractionally, a gentle push of his lips turning the perfunctory press of flesh into an actual kiss. He's warm and gentle and undemanding.

You pull away when you feel his pecs jump under your hands. A quick look down and you can see he's clenching his hands to keep them at his sides.

You reach down and guide his hands up to your back. Sam's fingers splay out, each hand spanning the entire width of your back. He doesn't grasp or dig his fingers in. He just holds you.

This next kiss is easier, more real. Your lips part, tongue easing along the seam of Sam's lips. With a sigh he responds, opening to you as your tongues explore each other. One of his hands creeps up to your neck as the other slides down to your hip.

With his help you slide your hips forward, pressing yourself against him, making Sam gasp and dig his fingers into your ass.

It takes Meg's slow clapping for you to peel off of each other. "Damn girl, didn't know you had it in you."

You ignore her. You’re not finished yet.

"Dean," you say as you turn to him, voice low and wrecked.

His eyes rake over your reddened lips and mussed hair, and he quivers with the strain of not reaching for you.

This time you don't hesitate, reaching your right hand to Dean's cheek before leaning over to kiss him. Your left hand is twisted in Sam's shirt, his hands bracing you as you lean across.

Dean's kiss is wet and desperate from the outset. He wraps his arms around you as if you might fade away. Your legs are still tangled around Sam, whose hands move to your thighs, thumbs tracing the inside seam.

Dean's fingers rub up your scalp, angling your head so he can deepen the kiss. Your thumb scrapes the stubble on his jaw, moving down to caress his throat. You can feel the play of muscle in his neck as he plunders your mouth.

You finally surface from Dean's kiss, panting and flushed. Dean rests his forehead on yours, hot breath whispering down your neck. "We were so fucking scared."

Sam caresses your other hand as he says, "We didn't think we'd ever see you again."  

You can't keep the shakes out of your voice. "Ditto."

Dean turns to look at Sam and they share one of their we're-having-a-conversation-here glances. Neither of them seems to move a muscle, but they come to an agreement. They both look to you.

This was nothing like you expected. When you agreed to Meg's plan, you envisaged a perfunctory exchange of short, embarrassing kisses, followed by Sam being apologetic and Dean laughing it off.

Sam isn't apologising. Dean isn't laughing. And those kisses sure as hell weren't short or perfunctory. They kissed you like lovers, and now they are looking at you the same way.

You answer the question in their eyes with the smallest of nods and a breathy, "Yes."

Dean looks up at your chaperones. "Everyone out. Now."

Meg smiles lasciviously at Cas as she walks backwards towards the door, pulling him along in her wake. "Let's go for a drive, angel. I'll show you what that back seat is for."

Bobby, however, doesn't move. He makes eye contact with you, not even trying to hide his concern. "What do you say about this?"

You hold a hand up to Dean. "Keys," you say, waggling your fingers. He fishes in his pocket and drops Baby's keys into your palm, and you toss them to Bobby. "A few hours, please."

Bobby tries again. "I don't think this is a good idea."

You hold his gaze, trying to look as sensible as you can given that you're sprawled across his adoptive sons. "I know."

Bobby points at the Winchesters. "You-" He tries again. "If-" Giving up, he stomps out, slamming the door.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Dean captures your mouth in another devastating kiss and Sam kisses your knuckles as his other hand rubs up and down your thigh.

When you surface from Dean's kiss, Sam hands run up the outside of your thigh and over your hip until his fingers reach the sliver of bare skin between your jeans and your t-shirt.

You look up at Dean. His gaze is locked on Sam’s hands as if he could burn your clothes off just by looking. But they are both stock still, waiting for consent. If you're not very clear they're going to be stopping every few seconds to check in on you. Respectful, but fucking frustrating.

Time to be direct. You look Sam dead in the eye. "Take it all off. I want to feel your hands on me."

They pause for barely a second, then with a growl Sam is climbing off the couch, tugging your jeans and underwear down your legs as he goes. You sit up as Sam fumbles with your socks and shoes, and Dean unclasps your bra and tugs it and your shirt off over your head in one practiced move.

And just like that you're naked.

Still kneeling next to the couch, Sam puts his hands on your knees; just rests them there as he looks his fill. You lean back into the curve of Dean's arm, unable to feel self-conscious when they are looking at you like that.

Dean's other hand brushes a lock of hair off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear before his fingers trace down your neck and over your collarbone. They drift over the outer curve of your breast, the touch raising goosebumps and hardening your nipple. He almost fucking purrs when his warm hand cups your breast, a deep hum that you feel as much as hear.

As Dean leans in to kiss you again, you ease your knees apart. Sam guides one of your legs off the edge of the couch as he presses the other against the cushioned backrest. You hear Sam's intake of breath, and shiver yourself as his hands drift down towards your core. It's a shock when instead of fingers a tongue swipes up your cunt. Your hips try to buck, and He keeps you steady as he presses his tongue into your folds. It's been a while, but you don't recall it ever feeling this good. Sam is alternating long, leisurely swipes with nibbly, tugging exploration, and his fingers are driving you to distraction as they stroke and squeeze your thighs.

You arch up, gasping into Dean's mouth. He chuckles as his lips follow the path of his fingers: your neck, your collarbone, your breast. "Bet she tastes good," he says, before wrapping his tongue around your furled nipple and sucking it into his mouth.

"Delicious," Sam says before taking a deep breath and dives in, tongue pressing at your entrance as his nose nudges your clit.  

You're climbing rapidly, lit up like a pinball machine, your attention bouncing all over the place. As soon as you notice a particular sensation there are two more to distract you, like a wonderfully obscene version of cutting heads off a hydra. The litany of 'oh, fuck, yes, Sam, Dean, please' that drops from your lips speeds up along with your breathing. You're no longer sighing and moaning but panting and  whimpering.

Dean's lips drift back up to your ear as his hand continues massaging your breast. "That's it babe, gonna make those pretty noises until you come for us?"

Sam's tongue is back on your clit, driving you higher, two fingers stroking through your wetness until they plunge into you. The sudden sensation of fullness triggers your climax, your body bowing forward and your breath gusting out as you shout his name.

You're chanting 'stop stop stop' as your orgasm ripples through you and with a tug on his hair Sam mercifully relents, disengaging from your oversensitive flesh with a kiss. You lie back, stretching and flexing as the aftershocks roll through your body. Sam and Dean anchor you with gentle caresses, their hands undemanding as they move slowly across your body.

You place your hands over one of each of theirs, interlacing your fingers. You lift Dean's hand to your mouth first, opening your eyes as you place a kiss to his palm. The way he's looking at you, all anticipation and confidence; you never expected to be on the receiving end of that look. You have to turn away before you drown in his eyes. Or before he sees too much in yours.

You bring Sam's hand to your mouth, lipping at the knuckles as you use your grip on him to pull yourself upright. But Sam's gaze is just as dangerous. There's heat in his eyes in addition to well-earned satisfaction. When he licks his lips you go almost cross-eyed watching his tongue swipe around his mouth, and you lunge forward to kiss him, open-mouthed and filthy.

Dean runs a hand down your back, lingering at the dimples of your lower back as he drops kisses on your shoulder.

Sam drops his forehead to yours. "Hey. How are you doing?"

You can't help the laugh that bursts from you. "I think we're well past," -you put on your best Joey Tribiani imitation- "How YOU do-in." Dean snickers behind you.  

Sam smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You can't help your voice being a little plaintive as you say, "We're not stopping, are we?"

Dean laughs again before murmuring, "That's our girl," into the back of your neck.

Reassured, Sam shifts away, adjusting himself as he stands. You must look bereft, because he stops to reassure you with a palm to your cheek. "I'll be back," he says, before walking off.

You turn to Dean, who shrugs and reaches for you. You turn around until you can swing a leg over to straddle Dean's lap, mirroring how all this began. You stay up on your knees so that you're looking down at him, your breasts pushing into his neck. He groans as his nostrils flare at your scent wafting up between you. "Smell so good babe, gonna have to taste you." You kiss him, pushing your tongue into his mouth as you press him back against the couch with your body.

Dean's hands grab your ass and squeeze. The dig of his fingertips into the crease where your thighs begin sends a frisson right through you. His hands knead your flesh as they travel from your thighs up to your shoulders and back down again.

A scrape of furniture startles you, and you pull back to see Sam dropping an armful of blankets in front of the fire. He must've stripped the beds. He layers everything into one big pile before moving out of sight again. This time when he returns he's throwing down pillows with one hand, and condoms and lube with the other.

Dean follows the direction of your gaze. "This okay?" he asks, nuzzling at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

Naked and unarmed, you should be feeling vulnerable; in theory you're at the mercy of these two men. But they’re Sam and Dean. You know they will do whatever you say. The power is almost as intoxicating as they are. "Fuck yeah."

Dean wraps an arm under your thighs and stands up; your legs automatically wrap around his waist. With a hand on the arm of the couch he goes down to one knee and lays you down in the middle of the nest Sam has made. Dean kneels between your legs, his eyes almost black with need as he places a hand on your ankle. You lift the other leg, prodding him in the chest with a playful toe before stretching it up over his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, Dean licks his lips, and you shiver with anticipation. Smiling, he starts to mouth his way down your raised leg, his fingers dancing up the other.

You tip your head back to look up at Sam. He seems to stretch almost to the ceiling from this angle, but it's the substantial bulge in his jeans that draws your attention. You tug on the hem of his jeans, and he gives you an upside-down smile before kneeling beside your head. Sam interrupts your fumbling attempts to undo his fly, ripping it open and jerking his jeans and boxers down his thighs. You take him in hand; he's firm and heavy, precome beading at his tip.

You're about to take Sam in your mouth when Dean starts feasting on you. He's all lips and tongue and nose and chin, licks and nibbles and nudges and suction. The man is quite literally face-fucking you, and it feels fantastic. You're glad his hands are on your hips, holding you down, or you'd be worrying about breaking his nose.

You prop yourself up on one elbow and use the hand that's still on Sam's cock to guide him into your mouth. He's so hard you can almost taste his heartbeat. You take in as much as you can before you fold your lips over your teeth and suck as you pull off him.

"Fucking hell," he breathes as he palms your breast and plucks the nipple. His other hand slides up to the nape of your neck to help support your head.

It's hard to focus on Sam while Dean is going to town on you. You alternate between using your tongue and suction until you hear Sam groan. If this is more than a one-time-thing it might be worth getting your tongue pierced again.

You pull Sam out of your mouth and use a handful of Dean's hair to guide him off of you. You have to clear your throat before you can speak, your voice rough. "Dean. Please."

His eyes search your face, then he holds his hands out and helps you up to your knees. His thumbs rub across your knuckles and he says, "Turn around, babe."

You do, to be confronted by the sight of a completely naked Sam waiting for you. It's only then that you realise Dean hasn't even unbuttoned anything.

But Sam, Sam is naked. Gloriously, stunningly naked. And you know it's not from vanity, or even from the demands of hunting. The ripped greek god in front of you is a side effect, not a goal. A side effect of his drive for purity, trying to overcome the shame of his tainted blood, trying to be strong enough that no-one can take his choices away from him again.

Now it's Sam's turn to be overwhelmed by what he sees in your eyes. Your name is a sigh on his lips as he leans in to kiss you. You drag your fingers down his chest, taking his cock in hand as you bend down to suck him back into your mouth. The change in position means you have more control, and you angle your neck to take in more of him than before, tongue swirling.

Then you feel Dean's knees nudging yours apart. The sound of squirting lube and the warmth of a hand on the small of your back fills you with anticipation. His cock is cold when he swipes through your folds and positions himself in the notch of your entrance.

He stops, just holding himself there. You whine around Sam, and press backwards, slowly easing Dean's thick cock into your eager heat. The stretch is strange after so long spent celibate. It's familiar but spine-tinglingly new, all at the same time. Dean stays still, groaning, his fingers pressing dimples into your ass as you push yourself back onto him. Once you've taken all of him, his hips flush against your ass, Dean leans forward and nips at your shoulder blade to get your attention. His voice is husky as he asks, "You okay, darlin?"

You can't reply, your mouth is beyond full with Sam, so you just start rocking forward and back, fucking yourself on him. Dean makes a noise that's half-groan, half-chuckle before picking up your rhythm and taking over.  

"Oh god," Sam groans when you're pushed further down his cock by Dean's thrust. Sam's hand tightens in your hair, and you moan around him as he swells in your mouth. "I'm gonna-" Sam tries to pull away, but you suck harder, leaning forward to keep him in your mouth. You feel his cock pulse in your hand as he comes onto the back of your tongue, and you swallow his spending as fast as you can to avoid the bitter aftertaste.

Sam breathes heavily as he sits back, falling free from your mouth. Your hand releases him, sliding down to his knee. He places a hand over yours, fingers gently stroking as he smiles tenderly.

You stretch your neck with a small puff of relief before dropping your shoulders to the makeshift bed.

Dean groans at your change of position, and stops moving. You reach out behind you, and Dean takes your offered hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and giving them a gentle squeeze. "Gimme a moment, I'm too close," he says.

You can't help but moan at the thought. "God, yes. Make me feel it," you say as you try to push back on him.

"Fuuuck," Dean groans as his fingers tighten, trying to hold you still.

Sam's voice is quiet, "Need a hand?"

You look up, but Sam's not talking to you. He's looking over you at his brother, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

Next thing you know Dean lets your hand go and his hands move to your ribs. "Up on your knees, babe." You expect him to pull out, but Dean moves with you as you shift your weight, his hands and body helping you keep your balance. When you're steady on your knees, he wraps his arms around you, one across your shoulders and the other low on your belly, holding you tight against him.  

"How's this?" Dean asks as he starts moving again, a slower, shallower, smoother rhythm.

You can feel him moving in you, but the change in position has diffused the building tension. Then the hand low on your belly presses harder, and you groan at the next thrust.

"There we go," Dean says. "Sammy?"

You open your eyes to see Sam sitting on his haunches right in front of you. You put your hands on his shoulders, glad of the support. He mutters "So fucking beautiful" as his hand goes straight for your cunt, rolling his knuckles over you, and suddenly you're right there on the edge. You throw your head back against Dean's shoulder, eyes closed as Sam's mouth closes around your breast.

Dean speeds up just a little. "So. Fucking. Beautiful." Someone pinches your other nipple, hard, and it pushes you over.

You turn to jelly, your arms going around Sam's neck and your head slumping forward onto his chest as you you twitch and gasp through your orgasm.

With Sam bracing you and a little extra room to move, Dean starts pounding into you again. Your name is a curse and a prayer on his lips as he comes, grinding himself as deep as he can get.

All three of you tip onto your sides and fall the short distance onto the blankets. Dean is still inside you and your head is on Sam's shoulder, everyone breathing heavily.

"Wow." Not your usual eloquence, but what the hell else was there to say?

"Yeah," Sam says, kissing your forehead

Dean sighs into your shoulder. "I hate to do this, but..." he says as he pulls out of you, turning to dispose of the condom.

Sam takes advantage of the opportunity, kissing you deeply before his hands encourage you to roll over so that he can spoon you. "Not as young as I used to be," he apologises as his flaccid cock brushes your thighs. "Next time, though..." he says into your ear. You can feel him smile against your hair when a shiver runs through you.

Dean returns to your makeshift bed, throwing a soft quilt over all three of you. He snuggles in and kisses you tenderly, twining a hand in yours and bringing it up to his face so he can kiss the knuckles. "You're awesome."

You can't help it. You yawn in his face. Both of them laugh, and Dean kisses you on the nose. "We'll take that as a compliment. Go on, get some sleep."

Your last thoughts are of how warm and safe you feel, bracketed between the Winchester men.


	3. Give Me Two More Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after ...

**Warnings:** Do I still have to warn you about language? Dean smut, Sam smut, unsanitary use of a kitchen counter

 

You wake slowly, your mind gathering the pieces of itself one by one.

This piece is the feeling of warmth against your back, a weight draped over your waist.

This piece is a nest of blankets in front of the fire. Sam licking the taste of you from his lips. Dean's hand in your hair. Sam's cock heavy in your hand. Dean stretching you out as he fucks you.

You're warm, well rested, and a little sore in all the best ways. You'll have to take up yoga, get some serious stretching in.

Dean huffs a laugh into your neck as he hugs you close, "Well, I do love bendy chicks."

"I said that out loud, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm."

You open your eyes and realise that you're in the sleeping nook, and it's just the two of you.

"The floor wasn't all that comfortable," Dean says. As you turn to face him he slips an arm under your neck. His other arm is still over your waist, and he starts idly rubbing your back. "You were out like a light when we moved you. Must've worn you out or something." He waggles his eyebrows cheerfully.

You smile as you kiss him. You're surrounded by his warmth and a slightly stale but not unpleasant musk. Your hand on his chest confirms that he's not wearing a shirt. Curiosity compels you to slide your hand down his torso and over his hip. Yep, not wearing anything. A quick mental inventory confirms that you're still naked too. Nice. Convenient.

You hook your leg over his hip and use it to tip him towards you. He ends up halfway on top of you, propped up on his forearm and with a knee between your legs. Damn, those thighs should be illegal. They're solid muscle, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from humping his leg. But then again, why not? You start an undulating roll of your hips, grinding yourself on him and incidentally rubbing against the erection that is growing against your leg.

He groans as he breaks the kiss. Lips on your forehead, his breath puffs in time with your movements. "I'm not complaining," he says, "But what about Sam?"

You're finding it hard to focus. "Sam?" you say as you nibble at Dean's neck, enjoying the tickle of his scruff. "He can wait his turn. Condom?"

He reaches under the pillow, pulling out a foil packet and a small bottle of lube.

You snatch the condom and start to rip it open, but change your mind. Dean frowns when you pause and give him a push on the shoulder.

"Did you wash, after?" you ask as you continue rolling him onto his back.

He nods, but it's not until you shuffle down rather than straddle him that he realises your intent.

You start with a soft kiss to his forehead, which is really just an excuse to tease him with your breasts. He chases a nipple with with his lips, using a hand on your ass to keep you from moving out of reach. Letting him latch on is a tactical mistake. The sensation stops you dead, shooting down to your core and leaving both your knees and your willpower weak.

Dean lets you pull away with a smirk, more than pleased with your reaction. You grab his hands and put them up on the pillow, drawing them together underneath his head before letting go and dragging your finger tips down his forearms and across the curve of his bicep. Taking the hint, he laces his hands behind his head, flexing his muscles as your fingers drift over them.

Your hands explore his collarbone before drifting down his chest to his nipples. As you move over a hard nub, his breath hisses from between his teeth.

"You like that?"

"Mmm-hmm."

You lean in to kiss his anti-possession tattoo, drifting your hand across to his other nipple as your mouth moves lower. You pounce, tweaking one and sucking the other, and his back arches as he gasps.

"Good to know," you say, smiling at the anticipation on his face as you work your way lower. Dean's waist is thick with muscle, testament to its utility rather than a quest for a six-pack. His treasure trail is hidden underneath his erection, so you mouth his adonis belt as you work a hand between his eagerly parting knees. You cup his balls at the same time your lips land on the root of his cock. Looking up his body you capture his enthralled gaze as you drag your lips to the head and flicker your tongue out to taste the bead of precome waiting for you. Using your thumb you lift him away from his body and he watches with a hum of appreciation as you suck the tip into your mouth.

Dean's hand lands on your hair, his thumb caressing the hinge of your jaw. You swirl your tongue, and you know he can feel the muscles in your jaw move. Your head bobs as you take more and more of him. You're maybe halfway down before you have to stop and wrap your free hand around the rest of him. Cautious of your teeth, you apply as much suction as you can and slowly pull off him. You keep moving, and Dean wraps his fingers in your hair as you start using your hands as well. He's not guiding or pushing, just along for the ride. He makes the most delicious noises, interspersed with breathy comments of 'fuck that's good', 'so fucking beautiful', and 'christ'.

Before long Dean says, "Gotta stop, babe. C'mere," reinforcing the request with a gentle tug of your hair.

You throw a leg over and straddle him, rubbing his wet cock through your folds as you lean down to kiss him. Dean holds you tightly to him, a hand on your lower back keeping your hips close as he starts to roll his hips up, matching your motion. He's panting into the kiss, open-mouthed and greedy.

You reach for the condom again, and he's clearly conflicted. You peck him on the lips as you roll the condom down his shaft. "You can impress me later. Right now, I need you inside me."

"Yes ma'am," he says, watching as you apply a generous glob of lube, making sure he's evenly covered before wiping your hand off on your cunt.

You swipe him down through your folds, tilting your hips so that he nocks perfectly into the dint of your entrance.

When you lift your head, Dean's looking at you like you're the last slice of pecan pie in existence.

Holding yourself above him, you guide Dean's hands to your breasts, and deciding it's worth the risk, you slam yourself down on him, earning a guttural grunt of 'Fuck'.

You rotate your hips, just in a circle at first, then drawing horizontal figures-of eight. "Did I ever mention the belly dancing class I took a few years back?" He frowns, then gasps as you shift to vertical figures-of-eight. "It's actually not your belly that does the dancing." You change rhythm again. "It's your hips."

"Fucking hell, woman." His hands move to your hips, trying to hold you still. A smile quirks his lips. "You can impress me later. Right now, I need to be inside you."

You lean over him, hands on his chest, and whisper against his lips, "You are inside me," before slamming yourself down again. Dean wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he plants his feet and thrusts up into you. You throw your head back with a wordless shout at the jolt it sends through you. He sets a steady pace, his words punctuated by his snapping hips. "That's. It. Babe. Gonna. Come. For. Me. Like. This?"

You shake your head. "Can't. Need."

You're grateful you don't have to finish the sentence, as with one swift movement Dean rolls you onto your back. He sits up and pulls your hips onto his lap before easing back into you. This time he doesn't move, and he smiles when you wiggle your hips, before hitching you closer and burying himself as deep as he can get. "I'm too close, you gotta hold still for a minute."

You actually fucking whimper. "I can't. You feel so damn good."

Dean drops a hand to your cunt, two fingers sliding through your wet folds before starting a fast, short rub over your clit.

You drop your head back with an 'ohhhhhh', your knees automatically spreading as wide as they can, and your hips pushing up onto his fingers.

"There we go. C'mon babe, wanna watch you fall apart for me."

You're climbing fast, the sensations amplified by being impaled on his cock, not being able to move. You're gasping and groaning a chorus of 'oh' and 'please' that quickly gets louder and more desperate. You can feel the wave of your orgasm about to crest, chanting, "Almost, almost. Please. Please. PLEASE."

You stop. Stop moving. Stop seeing. Stop breathing. Your peak hits, and you convulse as if hit by an electric shock, curling yourself towards Dean. He presses deep, trying not to get bucked off as you come, and you bat his hand away from your over-sensitive clit.

You lie there, panting, and only open your eyes when Dean gives a tentative pull-push of his hips. You look up at him with hooded eyes and reach for him, and he falls into your arms with a muttered 'fucking magnificent'.

You roll your hips, and he shifts his legs to get better leverage before thrusting into you at a rapid pace. "Won't last," he says.

"Good, wanna feel you," is your answer as you wrap your cooked-noodle legs around his waist. "Gonna make me feel it, Dean?"

He growls and starts pounding into you. You feel him swell slightly inside you as his motion becomes choppy, and then he's coming, and you're feeling the pulses as he fills the condom.

Dean's kissing you, deep and leisurely, as if he's licking cake icing from the bottom of the bowl. "Hey," he says, between kisses.

"Hey," you answer, rubbing your nose up and down his. "Good morning."

Dean's smile is wide and joyous. "Fuck yes it is."

\------

It's your twin desires for a pee and a cup of tea that drive you out of bed. Careful not to wake Dean, you borrow a shirt and pull on your sleep shorts before venturing out of the curtained sleeping area.

In front of the stove is Sam, spatula in hand as he hovers over two frying pans.

You wrap your arms around his waist, tilting sideways to peer around him at what he's cooking. "Smells fantastic, but isn't it a little late for a full breakfast?"

Sam turns his head, giving you a smile before tapping the top of your head with his freshly-shaved chin. "We can call it an honorary brunch. Gotta keep your strength up."

You give him a squeeze before moving to make yourself a cup of tea. "It feels like you drew the short end of the stick."

Sam crooks a playful eyebrow at you. "You're not seriously calling my 'stick' short now, are you?" You can feel heat rushing across your face, and he laughs at how easily he made you blush.

"You know what I mean. You don't feel, um, short-changed?"

"Again with the short?" Sam teases before he relents, nodding towards the the sleeping nook where Dean hasn't moved. "It's okay. I figured you shouldn't wake up alone, and Dean needed you more."

You know what he means. Dean lives at a more visceral level than you and Sam do. His sheer enthusiasm and enjoyment of life is part of what draws people to him, what makes being around him so invigorating. But the reverse of that coin is the damage he does to himself when unable to act. Helplessness. Frustration. Unexpressed anger. He twists them all into an overwhelming guilt with which he flagellates himself. Your abduction was fuel enough for his self-hatred, but watching his doppleganger hurt you? You were surprised he hadn't gone nuclear.

Sam pulls you out of your thoughts with gentle shoulder bump. "You okay?"

You nod, leaning a hip against the bench, sipping from your tea as you watch him work. "This is kinda weird, isn't it?"

He gives a little shrug. "Weird is relative. I mean, look at our lives."

You nod. "Granted, but that doesn't tell me where you're at with this." You take a breath; it's surprisingly hard to ask. "What do you want?"

Sam moves the frying pans off the heat and puts down the spatula. He turns and presses himself against you, his hands pulling your hips in tight so you can feel his erection pressing against your stomach. You barely get your mug down on the bench without spilling any.

"I want you." The raw honesty in his voice makes your knees wobble, and you snare fistfuls of his t-shirt to keep you upright. When you tiptoe for a kiss Sam merely ghosts his lips above yours. His voice drops and you can feel it rumbling through his chest and into your own. "With Dean warming you up, I bet I could just push right in."

The idea gives you a full-body shiver, and you draw in a shaky breath to whisper. "Please."

"Off," he says, with a quick lift of his chin. By the time you've pulled off your shirt and kicked off your boxers, Sam has opened his button fly and put on a condom.

You smile as he lifts you onto the counter. "So, cooking breakfast does it for you, eh?"

Sam steps between your legs and runs his fingers through your folds, grunting with satisfaction at the wetness he finds there. "No. But listening to you does." He lines himself up. "I got out of the shower and all I could hear was you. Begging."

He begins an achingly slow slide into you, watching you arch your back as you try to get more of him. "Whimpering."

When he's as deep as he can get, Sam moves his hands to your ass, pinning your knees against his waist as he hikes you closer, halfway off the counter. "Moaning."

With one last, deliberate press of his hips, he bottoms out.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes running from where you're joined to where your hands and your weight are warping his t-shirt to the flush creeping across your chest. It's as if he's taking notes, embedding the moment in his memory. And then Sam's eyes meet yours, and you nearly drown in them.

You're surrounded by Sam: his arms, his warmth, his strength. It's as if he's the only thing left in existence, anchor and beacon and haven, all in one.

He moves a hand up to your neck, support and guidance both as he tips his head forward. He kisses you. Kisses you like he's trying to climb inside you. An eternity later you surface. Sam presses his forehead to yours. "Ready?"

You have no words, but a nod suffices.

Sam's hands tighten fractionally, and then he's moving, a long, slow, rolling stroke that uses his full length. You can feel the crown of his cock speed-bumping at your entrance on the out-stroke, and brushing your cervix on the in-stroke.

You couldn't keep your eyes open if you tried. All of you is focused on the feel of Sam moving in you as he speeds up, and every thrust jolts the breath out of you with a 'huh'.

His breath is hot on your ear. "You feel so fucking good. Need you to come for me, beautiful, I'm not going to last."

You nod again, and when his hand leaves your neck you brace your head against his chest.

Sam snakes his hand between you, and with a firm grip he pinches the hood of your clit. Every thrust pushes his fingers over where you need them most, and your panting becomes a moan.

His chin nudges your head. "Look at me. Wanna watch you come on my cock." You catch a glimpse of his face before your head tips back like a drunkard's. He's gorgeous in that moment of focus and determination. Your eyes close again, chin to the ceiling and mouth open wide as you wordlessly moan his praises.

Sam speeds up and starts to pulse his fingers on your clit. It's too much and just perfectly enough, all at the same time, and in seconds you're coming with a shout of, "Sam!"

Without stopping he moves his hand away from your core, wrapping his arm tight around your back and curling his fingers over your shoulder. He pulls you close, and you can't resist. You put your mouth on the bulging muscle in front of you, the firm press of your teeth on his shoulder not quite a bite but definitely more than a kiss.

He groans your name and starts pounding into you, holding you immobile with his hands at your hip and shoulder. You accept the brutal rhythm, feeling feral as your breath puffs between your teeth and over his skin.

Sam comes with a loud, "Oh. Fuck. Yes," thrusting through his release. He drops a hand to the counter to take some of his weight as he slumps against you

You press an uncoordinated kiss on the colorless dents you've made in his skin before resting your head on his chest. Sam bends his head over you, breathing deeply as he mouths at your shoulder, letting you feel his teeth but not pressing in with a bite.

You don't know how long you stay like that, but you haven't even begun to cool down when there's a loud clatter, and you and Sam jolt apart.

It's Dean, ostentatiously dropping the frying pans back onto the stove. He grins at the sight of you, flushed and naked on the counter, and winks. "Couldn't wait any longer for breakfast. I seem to have worked up an appetite."

"Jerk," is Sam's half-hearted reply. He drops his forehead to yours as he uses the cover of your still-spread legs to remove the condom and tuck himself away, before kissing you and helping you down.

"Punk," Dean replies, knowing how much you hate 'bitch'. He resumes the breakfast preparations, pointing the spatula at you and Sam. "The others will be back soon. If your 'quality time' is finished, you should think about getting dressed."


	4. You Won't Be Denied

Warnings: Bad language, no smut at all (yes, that is a warning), angst with a bit of shouting, fluff

  
  
You were just tidying up the breakfast dishes when Bobby, Cas, and Meg arrived. 

Bobby's shoulders drop in relief. "At least the place doesn't stink of sex."

"Not to you, maybe," Meg says, closing her eyes as she breathes deeply through her nose. "It smells like heaven in here," she says, her hooded eyes making contact with Cas.

Dean laughs when Cas blushes, and you give Meg a comradely fist-bump. "Congratulations. Hope you were gentle with him."  

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," the demon drawls.

Both Dean and Sam look away. You, however, are giving Meg the 'call me' hand signal, mouthing 'Later'. The two of you share a grin.

Bobby glares at you. " _Anyway_. Hope it's out of your system, 'cos we got a ghoul infestation a state over that will need all hands on deck."

Sam and Dean straighten, their expressions serious. "All of us?" Sam asks, deliberately not looking at you.

Bobby gives them a don't-you-fucking-start look. "Yes. I'm not talking about a couple of suspicious deaths, there's at least five fatalities that cross state lines, and similar attacks going back over 50 years. There's too much ground to cover and too many records to review. We need her."

The boys turn to you, but your gaze is drifting over their heads as you think. "I can use the 'local stories' cover, gives me an excuse to snoop cemeteries and interview the old-timers." You look at Bobby. "It'll be less suspicious if I start at the edges and work my way closer to the latest attacks."

Bobby is nodding. "Good, that'll work. Okay, everyone pack up, we're leaving in 10."

"No," Dean says. "We're not sending her out there alone."

"Not now we know the Leviathan have her on their radar." Although he hasn't moved, Sam is giving the impression that he's just stepped between you and Bobby.

Bobby looks like he wants to slap them both. 

Cas and Meg exchange a look. Meg shrugs and Cas speaks up, "We can accompany her."

Dean isn't convinced. "Bobby, you and I can Fed it up, Sam can help her with the research."

Sam isn't having any of it. "Dean, you seriously want to go hunting ghouls without me? Remember what happened last time?" He runs a hand through his hair, "Look, she'll have an angel and a demon looking after her, and she'll be careful." He turned to you, looking for reassurance himself. "You will be careful, won't you? Don't take any chances."

"Oh, nice of one of you two to acknowledge that I'm actually _in the fucking room_." Sam looks at his feet, and Dean's ears go red. "I'm a researcher, not a hunter. Unlike some, I know my limits."

Bobby nods to you, "Then let's go." 

\------

Cas took his bodyguarding duties a little too seriously, trying to stop you from talking to anyone. Which came across a little weird from someone in pajamas and a trenchcoat. After a brutally direct conversation, you hit the local second-hand clothing store and scruffed him up until he could pass as a sociology student. Meg spent 5 days binge-ing Netflix, ordering pizza, and calling Cas a hippie. At least it meant there was always food around.

Within a week you had exhausted all the leads from the older attacks. Three town record offices, two historical societies, four libraries, and no less than two dozen interviews with not-always-entirely-there locals. You'd slept maybe three nights out of the last five, either too amped up with your mind aswirl with information or using Frank's programs to support Bobby and the boys while they snooped and burgled.

And after all that, you had nothing. There was no connecting thread; no place or person or possession or interest that tied everything together in a neat little bundle. No idea why ghouls had risen in at least 12 different cemeteries over the last 67 years.

It was beyond frustrating, and everyone was on edge. For sanity's sake Bobby sent Cas and Meg back to the cabin after they dropped you off.

You look around their motel room. "Tight quarters. Please tell me there's some hot water left."

Sam speaks up immediately. "We got you a room of your own, just next door," he says, pointing at a connecting door.

"In case you need some quality time," Dean adds.

You sag with relief, and turn to hand your file box to Bobby. "Thanks. I'm going to get some sleep. 'Night."

"Night, sweetheart," Bobby says as you scoop up your bag and head for your room. 

You barely hear the boys' confused chorus of 'Night' as you close the door behind you.

\-----

You meet them at the nearest diner for breakfast. After a solid ten hours sleep and a shower you're feeling a little more human, but Sam and Dean are acting weird. 

Bobby stands. "Gonna go get today's paper, back in a bit." He knows there's something brewing and is trying to stay out of it. What the fuck is going on?

It's Sam who breaks first. "What's up? You seem really out of sorts."

That wipes the smile off your face. You're floored. You haven't even SAID anything yet. "What?"

"Sleep well?" Dean asks. His tone is snippy, and he won't meet your eyes.

"Dean," Sam chides.

"I don't..." Something from last night finally catches up to you. "You got me a room to myself for quote-unquote 'quality time'. For sex?" You glare at both of them. "That's the problem?  I work myself to fucking exhaustion because _people are dying_  and you're pissy because I didn't jump your bones the instant I saw you?" 

You can't believe it. You do your job, and they're whining because you're not trying to rip their clothes off? You know what? No, you're just not in the fucking mood for this. You stand up, ignoring the waitress who has come over to take your order.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm walking to the room I thought my- my friends got for me out of consideration rather than in the hopes of getting their rocks off." They start to protest, but you wave them off. "You can both just fuck off until you feel like treating me like an actual fucking person."

\-----

You're halfway back to the motel when a small sign by a nondescript driveway catches your attention. You stop, deep in thought as you compare your current position to the map of the town that you'd built in your head.

You're interrupted by someone shouting your name, and you turn to see Dean's current ride pulling over, Sam and Bobby already halfway out the doors with worried expressions on their faces.

You ignore them and point at the sign. "Franklin Mortuary employees only."

"Yeah," Bobby says uncertainly.

It's not like him to be slow on the uptake. "But the facility address listed on the death certificates is Wilson Ave."

"Which is on the other side of town."

You smile with relief. "They have two premises. As the only certified funeral home for 50 miles, what if they hit a busy patch? All it would take is a couple of car crashes to max out their facilities on Wilson Ave. This could be the missing link."

Bobby points at the Winchesters. "Suit up and get yourselves a tour of this place. EMF, hex bags, personnel, the whole nine yards. We'll pull their certification and the county records for this location." They hesitate. "MOVE!" 

\-----

After that, it was almost easy. Every single ghoul had been 'processed' at the second facility, which had a wall plaque memorialising a courthouse originally on the site. A plaque made from timber salvaged from the fire that destroyed said courthouse. A fire that killed a woman awaiting trial for murder; a woman renowned and feared as the local voodoo queen. In Washington state, in the early 50's. Go figure.

One barbequed wall plaque later, and it was all over.

Dean handed out the beers he'd brought back to the motel. "So, not ghouls, not witches, but a necromancer's ghost raising zombies? That's gotta be a first." 

Bobby nods as he stand. "Well, I'm outta here."

You push back your chair. "I'll just pack."

"No. You're staying here and you're going to listen to these boys." Bobby blocks your protest. "But me no buts. I want you lot back at the cabin tomorrow with everything sorted out." He closes the door behind him, and silence descends.

It's Sam who starts the conversation. "I'm sorry. We were so glad to have you back that we didn't realise we were being insensitive." He elbows Dean.

"I thought this would be business as usual, but we missed you. I mean, it's always been nice having you around, but this time you not being here, it-it felt wrong."

You take a deep breath. This is going to be brutal, but they deserve the truth. "I'm sorry, but I didn't miss you. I didn't have time, I was too busy. And whatever this is, it's too new for me to start expecting anything from you." You could see them deflating. "I do care about you."

"Really?" Dean is still smarting. "As I recall, you didn't contact us once outside of giving updates on the case."

"I didn't have to, you were texting Cas twice a day to check up on me." You can't help but put your hands on your hips. "Maybe I was treating you like adults that could a) respect the work, and b) could ask if they needed something. Rather than making veiled references to 'quality time' and then getting their noses out of joint when I'm too fucking tired to figure it out." 

"What do you want from us?" Sam asks.

"I want you to tell me what you want. You could've said that the room was so we could have some privacy, or that it was to save Bobby from having to gouge his eyes out. Hell, if you'd played paper-rock-scissors to decide who got to bunk with me, THEN I would've got it." You shrug. "Probably. I was really, really tired. I'd've said no to sex but yes to cuddles or having my hair washed or getting a massage. And I'd've said hell yes to falling asleep between you, safe and warm." 

You look down at your hands. "I know you weren't trying to objectify me. I know you care. I know your apologies are sincere. But I'm still hurt, I'm still angry, I'm still tired, and I'm feeling a little vulnerable."

It's quiet. That's it, you've just fucked it all up.

"Can we have a do-over?"

You frown at Sam. "I don't understand."

"Stay there." Sam stands, directing Dean towards the door with a wag of his head. They leave, shutting the door behind them.

You have no idea what's going on. And then they knock on the door.

You're still sitting at the table.

They knock again, and Dean calls your name, a plaintive question mark at the end of it.

So you answer the door. They're standing there, tall and intimidating in their business suits. 

But then they both smile like they haven't seen you for a week. 

Sam steps forward and wraps you up in a hug. "We missed you." 

With a squeeze he hands you off to Dean, who hugs you as well. "It wasn't the same without you around."

You can't help it. You burst into tears. Big, fat, ugly sobs that turn your face red and make your nose run.

"Hey, you're okay." Dean pulls back, his hands on your shoulders, ducking his head to look you in the eye. "You missed us too, huh?"

You nod frantically, still fighting the tears.

Dean shucks his jacket before he pulls you back to him. "No snot on the suit, okay? Dry cleaning costs a bomb."

You laugh against his chest, and he kisses the crown of your head.

"Hey, Dean."

You turn your head and see Sam ready to play paper-rock-scissors. Dean's hands leave your back, and you feel the movement through his arms. Tap-tap-tap. Thump. Sigh.

You frown at Sam, who is holding a hand out to you. 

"I get to wash your hair," he says with a grin.


	5. My Heart is Where It's Always Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the author gets to rant about Becky the Rapist.

**Warnings:** Bad language, very _creative_ bad language from Reader, Becky the Rapist, angst, Sam smut, use of the word love ?!

  
It's a lovely day, so you're out in the garden. You and Bobby have been visiting Jody in Sioux Falls while the boys are in Nevada, and you're repaying her hospitality by doing some chores around the house.

Bobby shouting your name has you dusting off your hands and heading into the house.

"She's almost here. Hang on, I'm putting you on speaker," he says as he walks over to the dining room table. 

You pull up a chair as Dean's voice echoes from the phone between you and Bobby. "I've got a case. I need you two to meet me."

You roll your eyes at the phone. "I'm not going to Vegas. I hate Vegas. That's why I didn't come with in the first place."

"Forget Vegas, I need you to meet me in Pike Creek, Delaware."

"Where?"

"Pike. Creek. Delaware. I'll be there in...thirty hours." 

Bobby frowns at the phone. "I'm packin' to help with a nest in Oregon, but I know a hunter already in the area that owes me one."

"Whatever, whoever. This is an emergency." You can hear him sucking in a shaky breath. "Sam just got married. To Becky Fucking Rosen."

\-----

Barely a day later you're sitting in Biggersons watching Dean stress-eat his way through a second stack of pancakes.

Garth strolls in and you wave him over. Garth pulls you into an enthusiastic bear hug, rocking you a little from side to side. "Now you're a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart." He busses you noisily on the cheek. "These Winchesters treating you well? I can't tempt you back to Team Garth?"

You can't help but smile. "You're not going to make me turn you down again, are you?" 

"No-one I'd rather have my heart broken by, sweetheart. And this must be Dean Winchester!"

Garth is already approaching Dean when you introduce them. "Dean, this is Garth Fitzgerald IV, Bobby's contact and my favourite ex-dentist."

Dean harrumphed, but had the good manners to shake Garth’s hand. “Let’s get back to the motel. You can check in while we go visiting.”

\-----

Visiting Sam and his wife was trippy, and it wasn't just because Dean refused to go empty-handed. "It's a waffle iron. Nonstick."

Sam lifts his eyebrows and looks at you. "Dean didn't tell me you were coming." His uninterested tone and the bland look in his eyes stun you, and it's almost enough to make you to turn tail, but behind him Becky is staring daggers at you. Her animosity gives you hope; whatever's going on, she thinks you can disrupt her plans, and that's good enough for you.

You paste on a smile. "Had to come meet the woman who stole you away from us. Becky, I'm loving the colour in the living room."

Now Sam's smile is genuine. "First thing I said was that you'd like it." He takes a step towards you, but Becky runs intercept and wraps herself around him like an octopus.

She blinks ingenuously, "I'm sorry, I can't remember your name. You must be new, I didn't read about you in Chuck's manuscripts. But then a lot of minor characters get edited out."

Dean inserts himself into the conversation. "Are we good? 'Cause I'm sniffing a case in this town. First guy wins Powerball, gets squished by a truck. Second guy went from the bench to the Majors, and a week later, his face was the catcher's mitt"

Becky nods, trying to look knowledgeable as she leads the way into the bedroom, where a wall is plastered with research under a scrapbooker-style heading of 'Sam and Becky’s Investigation'. "Our first thought was crossroads demons, but there's that 10-year time frame on collecting souls."

Dean looks at Sam. "You're working this case... together?"

Becky answers. "Yeah. I know. Right? I mean, I guess all those Chuck Shurley books paid off. Sam made us matching IDs so we can start canvassing." You don't hide your grimace fast enough, and Becky pounces. "Oh, that's right, Sam said you don't usually suit up. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get there." 

Dean has had enough. "All right, listen, sweetheart, I don't know what kind of mojo you're working, but, believe me, I will find out."

Sam bristles at Dean's tone. "Dean, that's my wife you're talking to."

"You're not even acting like yourself, Sam!"

"How am I not?"

You just can't keep your mouth shut. "Sam, you married SuperFan99!"

"What are you saying? I'm a witch? Or maybe I'm a siren. Ever occur to you we're just - I don't know - happy?" 

Dean ignores her. "Come on, Sam! Guy wins the lotto, guy hits the bigs. Obviously people's dreams are coming true in this town. Don't you think this is a little bit of a coincidence?"

"You know what, Dean? What Becky and I have is real. And if the two of you can't accept that, that's your problem, not ours."

"Or maybe she's part of it. Because for whatever reason, you're her dream. If you really do care about her, you should be worried. Because people who do get their little fantasies or whatever seem to end up dead pretty quick."

"You know, I went after her, Dean."

Sam's words cut you to the quick. It had been Sam who wanted you to go to Vegas with them. You knew part of it was so he could avoid having Dean haul his ass up and down every skin joint on the Strip, but Sam had spent a fair bit of effort talking up camping in the desert. But you thought they should have some time together without the complication of your presence. Maybe if you had gone...

"Maybe that's what's bugging you - that I'm moving on with my life. I mean, you took care of me, and that's great. But I don't need you anymore." 

Sam turns to you. "You and Dean will be fine. You have each other."

You just stare at Sam, wondering if that's how he really feels. Maybe he's trying to reassure Becky, whose hackles haven't settled since you walked in the door. You turn to Dean, whose poker face is still on, but you can see devastation in his eyes. You can't help but reach for his hand, and the ferocity of his grip tells you he needs the contact as much as you do.

"See!" Becky pops the fakest smile yet. "We should go on a double date!"

Dean pulls you close so they can't see the murderous look in your eyes. "Once we've got these deaths stopped, eh?"

Dean bundles you out of Becky's apartment, a finger to his lips as soon as the door closes. He leaves you to stew all the way back to the motel, and by the time you're in the privacy of the room you're incandescent with rage.

Garth, that tone-deaf Pollyanna, sets you off. "So how did it go?"

"Motherfucking Becky Rosen! That pathetic, deluded skank is a whiny, clingy, pus-filled piece of discarded foreskin! Smug, nasty little discarded butt plug from a demon's orgy! That deceptive little bitch is slimier than the scum off a pox-ridden whore's chamberpot!"

Garth's eyes are wide as he backs away from you. It even looks like he might be muttering an exorcism under his breath.  

"Hey!" Dean says as you kick one of the beds, "I know this sucks, and I'm impressed by the vocabulary, but we've gotta focus."

Garth tries to help. "Honey, you gotta calm down, you're behaving like a jealous lover."

"I AM a jealous lover!" you shout at him. You turn away to scrub your hands over your face and push them up into your hair, wondering how the hell this happened. 

Dean puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls you into a hug. He doesn't say anything, just wraps you up tight. With a sigh you drop your arms around his neck, and the two of you relax into each other just a little, sharing what comfort you can.

"So, today's paper," Garth says, interrupting the moment, "some dude got a surprise promotion at Mutual Freedom Insurance. From sales straight to CEO, overnight."

Dean lets you go, hiding his reluctance. "Okay, let's check it out." He frowns at you, and you know he's weighing up what to do with you. 

Turning up to a daytime interview of a potential victim with three of you would be overkill. But with what happened the last time they left you in a motel by yourself...

Dean must've seen something in your face, because suddenly he's crouched in front of you, hands wrapping around yours. He can feel you freeze. "Hey. Look at me."

It's an effort to drag your eyes up to his, but once you do, the strain falls away. You suck in a deep breath and manage to twitch a smile at him, and with a relieved sigh he smiles back. "It's okay, you're coming with me, even if you just stay in the car."

Garth tries to argue with him. "But-"

Dean glares at him. "She's coming with us." His tone is flat and final, as if he's carving his words into stone. The chill in his voice might have triggered you all over again if he wasn't already rubbing a thumb over your knuckles, the touch reassuring and grounding you. Thankfully Garth gets the message and backs down.

When Dean looks back at you, you try to pull your hands from his grasp. "I'll tidy up a little, then, just in case." He nods and reluctantly releases you, and in short order you are in the bathroom with your bag, wrestling with hair and makeup. The boys have it easy; put on a suit, run a hand through their hair, and they're ready to go. You've found out the hard way that if you aren't note perfect you'll get made. And it's the littlest things that people pick up on: the wrong shoes, lipstick too bright, casual hair. The price you pay for a) being female, and b) not having the panty-dropping Winchester genes.

You hear Garth clear his throat. Looking at the bionic ear in your kit, you consider your options. Eavesdropping isn't usually your thing, but the thought of Dean and Garth having a heart-to-heart is just too...interesting. 

"Now I know I don't know you that well, Deano, but I gotta say I thought you were better than this."

"Better than what?"

"Messing with your brother's girl. Now I seen how she looks at you, but it's obvious that she's mighty jealous of Miss Rosen."

"It's complicated."

"It always is, my surly friend. But the way Bobby talks about him, Sam Winchester is just too darn smart to keep coal and throw away diamonds. What's gonna happen once you break him free from this Becky? It's like the Eagles song, somebody's gonna hurt someone."

Okay, good thing you'd thrown your scruples out the window - if Garth carries on like this he's liable to get punched. You open the door, cross the room, and step between them. Turning to face Garth, you lean back onto Dean's chest, pulling his arms around you. Dean follows your lead, lacing his fingers with yours as he drops a kiss into your hair. 

You wait until Garth stops staring at your hands and gives you his undivided attention. "No-one's getting hurt, Garth, and it's not complicated at all. Short version, there was a situation, and to resolve it I had to get close to both of them. The three of us haven't discussed it, so don't ask me for a label, but we're happy. All of us."

Garth's eyes are wide. "I've known you a while now, darling, and I must admit you've bamboozled me."

"I'm happier than Kirk surrounded by Orion dancing girls." Dean gives you a squeeze and buries his nose behind your ear.

Garth shrugs. "Well, different strokes for different folks. So to speak. Love to hear the long version someday."

You chuff a laugh. "It's not entirely mine to tell. But if the boys are okay with it I'll let you know. You bring the wine and I'll make that casserole you love so much."

"Now THAT is a deal I'll happily make." Garth smiles. "I'd hug you, but you look a little busy at the moment. Text me when you're good to go." Garth starts whistling as he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Dean doesn't move. You're not surprised, the two of you have had a royally shitty day. You try to reassure him. "Hey. We'll get him back."

"Yeah, we will." Dean hugs you closer, no hint that he wants to move. Maybe it's easier for him to talk when he doesn't have to look at you. "It's just...I hoped that seeing you would snap him out of it. Whatever she's done to him, it packs a helluva punch."

You tilt your head back, trying to catch his eye. "You really thought that would work?"

He tries to shrug it off until he sees the look in your eyes. Dean turns you around, running his thumbs across your cheeks and his fingers moving into your hair as he cradles your head in his hands. The press of his fingertips gently urge forward until your foreheads touch.

"Yeah, I did," he breathes into the tiniest of spaces left between you, before kissing you. His next words are almost lost against your lips. "It'd work for me." 

There's nothing you'd like better than to keep kissing Dean, but- "You've got a CEO to interview. I'll be ready in 5."

Dean reluctantly lets you go. "Later."

You smile at him. "Yeah, later." 

\-----

The next hour is a whirlwind. As soon as Dean and Garth confirm they're dealing with a crossroads demon, they bundle you and the next target off to a safe house. Marsha the Soul-Selling Social Climber spends the day whining about her phone being confiscated, and the evening complaining bitterly about missing the all-important reunion. 

You spend the time worrying about the boys and restraining yourself from slapping Marsha. Sergeant Jones, Garth's paranoiac 'tri-racial paraplegic sniper', takes pity on you sometime around mid-afternoon and hands you a drink. Straight whiskey, not your usual, but beggars can't be choosers.

It's 1am before Jones' perimeter alarm sounds, and by then you're well and truly smashed. You manage to run into Sam's arms, but he recoils when he gets a whiff of your breath.

"Only way to stop her pacing," Jones says by way of apology.

You almost remember saying your farewells to Garth and Jones before Sam and Dean pour you into the backseat of the Dodge.

\-----

Thankfully anulment is a straightforward process. A couple of signatures, and Sam's tucking the papers away for him to file on the way out of town. No way any of you are trusting Becky with that.

You're leaning on a doorframe scowling the entire time. Becky refuses to even look at you, and you're enjoying her reaction until Dean lets slip that you're just hungover. This is why you can't have nice things.

Everything seems to be winding up, but there's something you need to do before you leave. "Becky, can I have a word?"

She starts babbling even before the boys are out of earshot, trying desperately for your sympathy. "I just wanted someone to love me for me? Is that too much to ask?"

You put your hand up to stop her. "I don't want to hear your whining or your excuses. I want to make something perfectly clear. What you've done this week doesn't make you a hunter. It makes you the kind of person we hunt."

She stares at you. It's going to take more to get this through her vapid little brain. 

You press forward into her personal space, voice and eyes as cold and ruthless as you can make them.

"If you contact Sam, or dabble in anything even remotely unnatural, _I. WILL. KILL. YOU._ Anything more spiritual than fucking yoga, and I'll be on your doorstep the next day. I'll bespell you into obedience, but leave you awake on the inside so you get a taste of how Sam felt. You'll put Celine Dion on the stereo and write a long note about how you just want someone to love you for you. You'll draw a hot bath and you'll open your veins. I will watch you bleed out. And when you take your last breath I will feel nothing but satisfaction. _DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. ME."_

She nods frantically, eyes wide as she backs away.

You head for the door. Sam frowns a little at Becky's expression, but Dean is raring to go. "Well, I guess that's it then."

You wave. "Bye Becky. See you again soon."

She pales and slams the door behind you.

You _really_  shouldn't have enjoyed that so much.

\-----

All three of you wanted to put Becky and Pike Creek as far behind you as possible before stopping for the night. You sleep off Jones' whiskey in the back seat, woken up every few hours for a pit stop and another bottle of Gatorade. By the time they decide to stop for the night, you're feeling human again.

"Nice pick, Dean. Don't think I didn't notice the bar across the road," Sam says as he pulls his duffle from the trunk.

Dean smacks his hands together with relish. "Of course! Who's up for celebratory annulment body shots? Anyone?"

Sam rolls his eyes and turns away to unlock the motel room. Dean catches your eye, tilting his head meaningfully at Sam.

You nod back, hoping that Dean reads it as yeah-I've-got-this.

Dean drops his bag just inside the door. "Later, nerds."

Sam is already pulling out his laptop. 

Now or never. Strike while the iron is hot. Etc etc. Just spit it out, woman. "Before you get engrossed in something, can we talk?"

He looks up with a concerned frown. "Sure. You okay?"

You sit down at the table, and Sam closes the laptop and pushes it a little to the side. He's full of little considerate gestures like that, but they're part of his arsenal. Take this one, that would read to most people as 'I'm listening, I'm interested'. He uses it to hide how much he _doesn't_  want to be listening. It helps keep him focused, stops his attention from drifting.

Damn, you hope these boys don't know your tells half as well as you know theirs.

Stop stalling. Time to lance the wound.

"Sam, I need to acknowledge that you just escaped a rapist."

Sam's eyes widen. "That's not what I thought you were going to say."

"Okay. Do I need to say it again, or are you going to stop deflecting?"

He drops his eyes and leans away. "She was just lonely and misguided."

"Sam, she took away your free will and abducted you. She took away your ability to give consent and imposed intimacies on you. Her stated intent was to trap you permanently and force herself on you. That makes her a rapist."

He has the audacity to shrug, and it makes you sigh. You didn't want to have to do this.

"What if it was me? What if you came back from Vegas and I was married to some rando and madly in love with him? If I abandoned both of you and went to start a new life somewhere else? 

You can't know what's going through his mind, but from the look on his face you can see it isn't good.

"Now that? What you're feeling? That's how Dean and I felt watching you with Becky. And she was enjoying it, too. Smug. Condescending. Twisting the knife. Imagine some almost-stranger pretending he knew me better than you did, that he made me happier than you did."

Sam pushes to his feet, needing to be in motion. It only takes him three strides before he's next to the window in the far wall. Sam crosses his arms and just stands there.

You follow and hug him from behind, your head between his shoulder blades. This next bit was going to be the clincher.

"And then think about the way he'd touch me when we're alone. The way he'd make me touch him."

Sam wrenches away from you with a snarl. A second later his fist is buried in the wall, and he's breathing hard.

You duck under his arm, leaning against the wall as you look up at him. "What would you call someone who did that to me?"

He stops breathing for an instant. The penny has dropped. He finally meets your eyes. "A rapist."

"What do you call the woman who did that to you?"

Sam lets out a long breath. "A rapist."

"When you're ready to talk about it, I'll listen. But until then I need you to know, down to your toes; it's over. We came for you. We will  _always_  come for you." 

Sam pulls his fist from the wall. He slumps onto the nearest bed, head in his hands. "When I woke up in the cabin, I thought...I thought I'd driven you both away. That no-one was coming for me. God, the things I said to you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You stand beside him and run a hand through his hair. "Hey, that's how we knew something was wrong. Dean swore black and blue that you'd rather climb back in the Cage than be that cruel to me."

Sam nods, swallowing audibly. "That was why Becky had to keep dosing me. Why I kept breaking free." He looks up at you with red-rimmed eyes. "Because she wasn't you."

You don't have to bend far to reach his lips. The kiss starts simply, gently, uncertain of your welcome. There's no way you're going to demand anything from Sam, not after what he's been through. 

But he doesn't hesitate. There's nothing tentative about the way his hands settle on your hips, urging you closer as he deepens the kiss. Your hands roam his shoulders, thumbs brushing the warm skin of his neck. Sam interrupts the kiss to pull his shirts off with one swift tug. Now there's golden skin everywhere, the muscles changing shape as he slides his hands up under your shirt. He smiles as the touch makes you shiver, and with a nod from you he pulls your shirt off over your head. 

It suddenly becomes a race to get naked, you shucking your clothes easily, and enjoying the view as Sam lies back on the bed to undo his jeans and shove them down his legs. You're tempted to just straddle him, but you remind yourself just in time to let him take the lead. You've pulled the bedcovers back and are crawling for the middle of the bed when you hear him laugh. "Where do you think you're going?" he says as he snags your ankle, pulling you flat. 

You feel a touch on the other leg, trailing up your calf, accompanied by warm breath. His nose inches higher, tickling the back of your knee. Sam takes advantage when you squirm, placing a knee between your legs. The mattress rocks as his weight shifts and he continues his journey, knee to upper thigh. To inner upper thigh. Your hands fist in the sheets when he groans, your knees automatically spreading for him, inviting him. Another groan, and he's nibbling his way up your ass.

The bed shifts under you again, and you only realise that you had been feeling the warmth radiating off his body when it leaves. You start to lift your head.

"Don't move."

The husk in Sam's voice sends a visible shiver through you. You're not surprised when a condom packet lands next to your head, but the promise inherent in the foil square sends a thrill through you, tilting your hips and spreading your knees even wider.

"Fuck." The word is short, sharp, as if punched out of him. You feel him climb back on the bed, knees settling inbetween yours. "Now, where was I," he murmurs at the base of your spine, the skitter of his breath raising goosebumps. 

He mouths his way up your back, moving to place a hand next to your ribs, the thumb caressing the outer curve of your breast. You try to lift your shoulders, give him more access, but his chin between your shoulderblades stops you. His other hand moves to mirror the first, thumb and all, and Sam tips his head, now pressing his forehead to your back. Your breathing hitches when you feel his cock nudging at your thigh, leaving a sticky trail of precome, and you know he's watching as it slides closer, closer, closer.

And then he pulls away.

"Turn over."

You manage to roll over and resituate your legs around him without kneeing him in the balls, but it's a close thing.

Sam waits until you're settled comfortably before giving you a wide smile. "Now, where was I." He places a kiss on your sternum, nuzzling across and pressing his cheek into the cush of your breast before capturing a nipple.

The sensation bows your back, and you glide your thighs up his legs until they come to rest on his hips. You slide one hand into his hair while the other scrabbles across the sheets for the condom. 

He grasps that wrist, pinning it down. "Nah-ah," he laughs, releasing your breast and moving to the other.

You tighten your fingers in his hair. "Sam. Please."

He looks up at you, eyes dark, and he relents, releasing your hand. Within seconds you're rolling on the condom and positioning him at your entrance, but he doesn't move. Sam's eyes search your face. Whatever he's looking for, he must find it, because his eyes settle on your lips and he kisses you. His tongue tangles with yours he eases into you.

He's cautious, two steps forward, one step back. The whole time you're straining, begging for more with your hips and hands and lips and voice. It feels like forever before you've taken all of him.

Sam hooks an arm under your leg, tilting your pelvis until he hits a spot that makes you gasp. Planting his hand on the bed to keep you at that angle, Sam shifts his weight so his other hand is free, and it moves to your mound, thumb circling your clit. You throw your head back, moaning at the combined sensations. And then he starts moving, deep and languid, and your climb is slow but inexorable. 

"Oh. Fuck. Yes." as each thrust pushes you closer and closer, until finally you fall. "Sam!"

He stops, buried deep inside you, flinching as each aftershock clenches your cunt around him.

Sam starts moving again, his cock still hitting that spot inside you, but you're too sensitive and try to shimmy away. He lets your leg fall, leaning in until his body is plastered to yours, his forearms by your shoulders, a hand fisted in your hair. You kiss him, panting into his mouth as he starts ramming into you, chasing his own release. 

Your mouths hover over each other's, noses touching as if they are the hinge that holds you together. You're both panting hard, the sharing of breath almost as intimate as what your bodies are doing. His eyes screw shut as the tension builds, and you brush the hair away from his face, making a fist at the back of his head and tugging firmly. He gasps, jaw dropping open with a moan, and soon he's coming, groaning your name as he grinds through his orgasm.

\-----

A kiss on your forehead wakes you. Sam is a warm wall behind you, his breath humid on your neck. You crack open an eye, not really willing to wake all the way up. 

Dean is crouched next to the bed, his face lit by the lamp you had left on for him. He's smiling at you; a dopey, tipsy, adoring smile that makes him look so much younger. "Hey love, how was your evening?"

You ignore his Freudian slip, "Good, he's good. We're good. Get some sleep."

"Kay." He gives you a peck on the lips. "Night."

"Night, Dean," Sam says from behind you. You flinch and let out a surprised 'eep'. Sam chuckles into your hair and Dean guffaws as he rolls onto the other bed. 

"Dammit, Sam," you protest.

"Sorry, love. Go back to sleep." Now that _wasn't_  a slip. He must have been awake the whole time.

You try to roll over, but Sam hugs you close, pinning you in place, his mouth hovering over your ear. "You heard me. Back to sleep." 

The pause between the two sentences was just a little long to be anything less than deliberate. Yeah, you heard him. You relax, warmed by more than just his arms, and drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Sam punches the wall, he's thinking about being tied to the bed in Becky's cabin; legs spread, trousers gone, sock in his mouth, fully lucid, completely helpless, and more than a little hopeless.


	6. My Head is Somewhere In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty interlude.

You drift up out of sleep, slowly stretching out the kinks. This happens every trip; to avoid the non-stop bickering, Zep, and Sabbath, you sleep. You miss the rumble of the Impala, but at least the Challenger's bench backseat is comfortable enough. 

You frown when you sit up and discover a) it's still daytime, b) you're in an airport parking building, and c) Sam is in his Fed suit.

Dean smiles at you from the front seat. "Afternoon, sleepyhead. Time to rise, shine, and get your suit on. We're switching cars."

You frown a little, their Fed suits aren't usually carjacking attire, but Sam is outside on the phone, pacing, so maybe they've picked up a case already. Thankfully there's a restroom on the ground floor, and five minutes later you have changed into business attire and a no-nonsense ponytail, and Sam's leading the way to the taxi stand. 

You don't get a chance to ask what's going on; the rank is full and you're swiftly bundled into a Prius. Dean just gives you a shake of the head when you look a question at him, so you grab your phone and look bored while you try to figure out what the hell is going on.

Thirty minutes later you're still confused, although you have established that you're in Minneapolis, it's 3pm, and there have been no reports of anything hunt-worthy in the area over the last two weeks. The taxi drops you at the St Paul Hotel, which is 4 stars above your usual digs and at least explains the need to change out of the more customary plaid.

Sam takes the lead. "Feldman, checking in. Two nights."

You ignore the usual concierge spiel to look around the lobby. It's beige and cream with dark woods and the tallest chandeliers you've seen. Far too classy, very old world, which explains suiting up, but not why you're here. Maybe a haunting? Cursed antique?

Your room has a nice enough view over the river and across the city, and it's huge. It has to be, because you've never seen a bed so big. 

"It's called a Wyoming King," Dean says into your ear, making you jump. Damn, that man can be quiet as a cat when he wants to.

You shake your head to dislodge the images the bed conjures. "What's the case?"

Sam stashes the bags and shrugs off his jacket. "No case."

"Then what are we doing here?"

Dean peeks into the bathroom, hmm-ing in approval at what he finds. Nonchalantly he says, "Well, the plan was to fuck your brains out and abuse the room service." 

Sam settles in an armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him as he unbuttons his cuffs. "But if you'd rather go straight back to the cabin, we can do that instead." He starts to roll up his shirtcuffs, the crisp white vivid against his tanned forearms. The muscles in Sam's arms and shoulders flex beneath the straining fabric, and his chuckle makes you realise you've been staring. You barely resist the impulse to check if you're drooling.

While you were distracted Dean has unpacked condoms and lube onto the bedside table. "It's gonna be a long couple of nights. We want to tire you out, not wear you down."

You glance at Sam, who hasn't moved. "There's plenty of time before our dinner reservation, so I'm sitting this one out. Dean hasn't had any 'quality time' since before Vegas." 

Now that you have trouble believing. "Oh please, you can't have blue balls. Four days ago you were surrounded by strippers and horny tourists." You wave a hand in his direction. "Looking like you do, you will've been beating them off with a two-by-four."

Dean's expression doesn't change as he steps into your personal space. "Yep, I was neck deep. and I was fighting them off." His voice drops. "Because you know what had me jerking it five times a day? The thought of you in sequins and feathers, or in thigh-high stockings, or in a little pleated plaid skirt. Oh god, that skirt. Please tell me I can buy you a skirt like that." 

You're blinking rapidly, trying to process what you've just heard. "O-kay, costumes and kinks are a separate conversation, but... In Vegas, you...didn't?" You hate how insecure you sound, but c'mon, these men could have almost anyone they want, and you're just...you.

Dean's smile is gentle. He takes your hands, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Why make yourself sick with glitter-sprayed tofu when there's pie waiting for you at home?" He quite deliberately licks his lips, and your eyes are riveted, remembering exactly what he can do with that mouth of his.

Satisfied at your reaction, Dean steps back, his head tilting. He takes his time, enjoying the build in tension as his heated eyes travel over you, head to toe and back again. "Have I ever told you how much I love you in that getup? Your ass looks like it's chewing gum when you walk. And that skirt..." He purses his lips. "That skirt gives a man some NAUGHTY ideas. I wanna just slide my hands up your thighs and rip your panties right off."

And that's when your higher brain functions completely short-circuit. It's all just too much: Dean's voice, the suit, the hotel, the bed, Sam sprawled in a chair...the prospect of two whole nights. 

One thing does penetrate the haze of lust. It turns out even the Winchesters can't completely defeat your pedantic urge for accuracy. "No panties."

Dean stops breathing for an instant, and you look up to see his tongue flicker across his lips. "Pardon?"

It's an effort to take in enough of a breath to get out a full sentence. "They ruin the line of the skirt, so no panties."

He hums low and deep, an echo coming from the armchair. Dean's voice is almost a growl as he puts his hands on your hips. "Damn, woman."

A thought starts tapping on the inside of your skull, insistent and distracting.

Dean says, "Whatever you just thought of, the answer is yes." 

You can't help the smile on your face as you step away and sit on the end of the bed, back straight and knees demurely together. You beckon Dean over, and once he's in front of you you put your hands on his legs, fingers curling around behind his knee as your thumbs rub the curve of his thigh muscle. Tipping your head up, you throw your shoulders back a little to make sure he can see down your shirt. 

Dean's fingers trail down your neck as you inch your legs apart until the hem of your straight skirt is tight, cutting a line across your lower thighs. There's barely enough room for one of Dean's legs as you urge him closer, and his breathing quickens as he watches the press of his thigh pushes your skirt higher. 

When his eyes meet yours again, you place your hands flat on either side of his straining cock. "I was thinking that you boys look so damn good in these suits. Almost edible. And you're not the only one with a healthy appetite."

Dean's breath huffs out at your words, and the muscles of his stomach twitch as you unbuckle his belt. As his zipper goes down he loosens his tie and rips it off, but doesn't go any further when you shake your head. You ease his trousers and boxer-briefs down just enough, wrapping your hand and mouth around his cock as soon as it is free. There's no coyness, no teasing, you just cram as much of him in your mouth as you can manage before pulling back. A quick swirl of your tongue around the tip, then back down until your gag reflex threatens.

Dean tugs your hair free of its ponytail, complicated by his shaking hands and your head moving on his cock. Dean fists his hand in your hair, and after a few minutes he tightens his grip to stop you plunging down again. You apply suction, rolling your tongue around him and bobbing your head as much as you can.

"Fuck, gotta stop that, babe. My turn." Dean helps you to your feet, unzipping your skirt and letting it drop. He turns you to face Sam, who is still in the armchair, tie gone and top two buttons loose. Dean steps behind you, reaching around to unbutton your blouse as you kick away the skirt and your heels. In short order your bra and blouse are on the floor as well.

You're naked, breathing heavily as Dean presses up behind you as you watch Sam stroke himself through his trousers.

"See how much he wants you," Dean says as his hands glide around your waist. "How much he wants to be the one about to have you." You meet Sam's eyes as you lean back against Dean. He whispers in your ear, "You up for teasing him a little?" 

You nod, and Dean scoops you up into his arms. "Hey Sammy, hold this for me, would you?" he asks as he drops you onto Sam's lap.

Dean kneels in front of the chair, turning you until you're facing him. He pulls your ass halfway down Sam's thighs and guides your hands behind you before swinging your legs over each of Sam's knees. 

Your balance is a little off despite your grip on Sam's thighs, and you're grateful when Sam's hands land on your ribs, one of them moving up towards your breasts.

"Nah-ah," Dean says, "support only, no touching." Sam groans again, but his hands stop, silent agreement to play Dean's game. You feel Sam's thighs flex as he tries fruitlessly to press himself against you. 

Dean takes a moment to enjoy the view, enjoy the anticipation. 

The spread of your legs, Sam's restraint --both his grip and his self-control--, a sexily rumpled Dean in front of you with a hungry look in his eyes. You're amazed you haven't burst into flames.

Sam's voice is a surprise. "Dude, she's fucking aching for you to touch her. If you don't, I will." It's then that you realise that you're moving, straining towards Dean.

Dean cups your face and kisses you briefly, pulling away to watch as he drags his fingers down your neck and over your collarbone. Your chest heaves under his touch as he moves down your sternum, caressing the inner curve of your breasts before cupping them in his palms. He rubs his thumbs over your already-hard nipples as he leans in.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs. Dean's tongue is firm and insistent in your mouth as he rolls your nipples between thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt through you. You moan into Dean's mouth and press into his hands, returning the kiss with a demand for more. Sam's hands move down to your hips, holding them still.

Dean drops his mouth to your breast, hand still cradling your flesh as his lips and tongue work the nipple. When he switches sides he slides a hand down your torso and out along your thigh. When he reaches your knee he drops his forearm a little and changes direction, hand moving oh-so-slowly inwards, thumb squeezing your inner thigh as he gets closer and closer to your core.

You're breathing hard and pulsing your hips against Sam's grip, trying to get Dean to move those last few torturous millimetres. With a grin Dean leans away, moving his other hand to mirror the first. When both hands are framing your cunt he looks down, his eyes drinking you in. He rubs his thumbs over your outer lips, smiling when he sees that you're already glistening with arousal. Dean drops his hands to cup your ass, arms flexing as he lifts your cunt to his mouth.

You groan when his lips make contact, tongue swiping out to taste you. Dean avoids your clit, nibbling and teasing. He's thorough, mapping you with his tongue before using his lips to tug at you. The man is driving you crazy, and he responds to your frustrated whimpers with a humming chuckle. The vibrations of his laugh are fucking heavenly, seeming to reach all the way up your spine. 

Your arms are useless, and you fall back against Sam's chest. He wraps an arm around underneath your breasts, pinning your arms to your sides. Sam's head dips to breathe across your cheek as he moves his knees further apart, stretching you wider for Dean. With a groan you tilt your head back, your lips begging for a kiss. "So fucking beautiful," Sam murmurs against your forehead. You crane your neck, reaching for him, when Dean brushes over your clit and pulls a gasp from you. Sam's lips hover over yours. "Not gonna kiss you, sweetheart," Sam says, "we wanna hear every little noise you make." Dean hums again in agreement.

Frustrated by their teasing you slide your hands to Sam's inner thigh. The angle is awkward and you can't reach far, but you manage to curl your fingers until the backs of them are pressing his cock from both sides. You start a short but firm rub, and Sam stifles his groan in your hair.

The heat of Dean's mouth and breath leave you. He's pulled back, the only contact between you his hands still on your ass. "Nah-ah. Hands where I can see them." He tilts his head as if to say 'I'm waiting'. 

Glaring at Dean, you decide to indulge in a little payback. You smooth your hands up over your thighs, one trekking up your torso and over a breast before curling around Sam's neck. The other swipes down your cunt, pushing two fingers in to smother them in your juices. Dean is transfixed, eyes following your hand as you lift it up over your shoulder to offer the taste of you to Sam. 

Sam doesn't hesitate, lips wrapping around your knuckles. He sucks at your fingers, tongue twining to lick you clean. Your eyelids are heavy as you groan at the sensation, clenching Sam's hair in your hand and writhing in his lap. 

Your eyes open, trusting that Dean can read the challenge and invitation in them.

Dean moves in so fast you don't have time to react. He's everywhere, tongue in your mouth, hands on your breasts, hips between your spread thighs. Your head thumps back onto Sam's shoulder at the sensation, your body arching up towards Dean.

"FUCK. Dean! Please."

His smile is triumphant as he pulls away. "I got you, babe."

His breath is warm on your cunt as he drags his thumbs down your slit, pushing them both inside you at the same time. You can feel him smile at your cry of surprise, lips curving against your cunt as he curls his tongue around your clit and begins to suck. He's rolling his thumbs inside you, the press and stretch like nothing you've felt before.

The climax building in you is just out of reach, so close it's almost painful. "Please. Oh god Dean, pleeease..."

And just as you're right on the edge, Sam rolls your nipples between merciless fingers.

The orgasm punches through you like a rocket launch. 

You come back to yourself to find that you're horizontal, sprawled across Dean's chest as he lies on the carpet. Your nose is buried in his neck, filling you with the scent of him as you pant your way through the aftershocks. You're not sure how the two of you ended up on the floor, and you wonder idly if you might have actually screamed this time. 

After a moment Dean stops stroking your hair and twists his head to get a look at you. "You okay?" When you nod Dean plants his feet and pushes his hips up, rubbing himself through your slick folds. You can feel the cool slick of a condom on his cock, and you momentarily regret being a sensible adult. All you want is to feel him hot and raw inside you.

Dean brushes your hair away from your eyes. "You good?"

Your eyelids stutter, blinking as you consciously run inventory; a few sore muscles, a heart that's still racing, and a profound feeling of emptiness between your thighs. You test your limbs, and realise that yes, they are mostly obeying orders. 

It occurs to you that Dean asking 'You good?' has handed you an opportunity on a silver platter, and you'll never forgive yourself if you waste it. 

With a deep breath and a Cheshire cat grin you reply. "Good? I'm fucking amazing, haven't you heard?"

His laugh is whole-hearted and joyous, bouncing you where you lie. Your heart bursts to see him so happy, so carefree. You haven't heard him laugh like this for far too long.

You pull yourself together and lift yourself off Dean's chest. He looks like he's about to protest, but stills when you bracket his hips with your knees, steadying yourself on one hand while the other guides the tip of his cock inside you. His eyes shutter as you push down onto him. You drop to your forearms, chest to chest with Dean and your lips hovering over his. "Hey."

With his hands on your hips, Dean rolls his pelvis, pushing himself deeper and lifting your hips to give him room to move. "Hey yourself."

This is what you needed, to feel him buried inside you, filling you up, stretching you out.

Dean's fingers tighten as he moves. "You feel so fucking good babe, just wanna pound into you."

You shiver. "Do it." He hesitates. "Dean, fuck me."

Dean crushes you to him with a searing kiss, his hand on your neck holding you close even as he breaks the kiss to catch a breath. Your mouths gape, lips barely touching, breath hot over each other's face. 

The hand still on your hip tightens, holding you in place as Dean plants his feet and thrusts in earnest. You brace yourself with your hands next to his head, and the slap of skin gets louder as you gain enough leverage to push back against him. Each thrust jolts through your body.

Dean's right on the edge, panting as his rhythm falters. He comes with a groan, head thrown back as he strains to get every last millimeter of his cock into you. You lean back, using your weight to pin his hips to the floor as you grind down onto him. 

You feel Dean huff a laugh, and you open your eyes to see him smiling up at you. "Hey," he says.

"Hey yourself," you reply.

He pulls you down for a thorough kiss as he eases his slackening cock out of you. You both flinch, that uniquely regretful wince that is part oversensitivity and part disappointment at having to separate. Dean presses his forehead to yours, breathing your name before he kisses you again.

When you come up for air you feel warmth against your back and Sam's voice in your ear. "May I?"

You look over your shoulder to find Sam kneeling behind you, shirt and hair rumpled, eyes dark with lust. It's so unfair how fucking gorgeous these men are sometimes. It takes you a second to notice he also has his cock out and a condom on.

Sam's expression changes, and he starts to shift away, trying to hide his disappointment. You realise that he's misread your hesitation. "Oh Sam. Yes. Fuck yes."

Sam hesitates a moment before giving you a shy smile that fades into focused awe as he positions himself. He slides home in one steady push, not as wide as Dean but reaching further. God he feels good. You'd think that after Dean, Sam would feel different, lesser, but there's no comparison to make. They both feel so right. It's nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the connection; as if these men carry lost pieces of your own soul.

And then Sam starts to move; a smooth gliding stroke that's just fucking perfect. He pushes a hand up your spine, and you arch into his touch. He reacts to the tilt of your hips with a groan. "Gonna come for me? Wanna feel you." 

"Not sure I can. Too sensitive."

Sam pulls you upright against him, the new angle shortening his thrusts and changing where the press of him hits. He puts a hand on your cheek, guiding your head so he can smear his lips across yours. Still glued to your lips he murmurs "Let me try?", smiling when you nod. 

He drops his other hand to your mound, sliding long fingers on either side of your clit. It's not direct enough to be too much, but the tug and pull of his fingers through your folds has you quivering. 

His mouth still hovers over yours, the hand on your head holding you upright against his chest as you moan. "Oh Sam, that's good, that's so good. Keep going." 

Sam pushes as far as he can from this angle and pauses, changing his stroke to a short deep pulse as the hand between your legs speeds up. 

"Oh, fuck." Your legs start to shake and you worry about falling until Dean's large hands land on your thighs, his firm grip bracing your twitching muscles.

You're babbling and panting as Sam drives you higher and higher. He teases his lips across yours. "Come on sweetheart, make me feel it." It's the caress of his voice and his hot breath on your cheeks that tip you over the edge. 

Sam gently lowers you so that your head and shoulders are resting on Dean. Sam slides his cock as deep as he can, groaning at your aftershocks fluttering around him and holding your hips tight against his as you ride out your climax.

He tentatively pulls back, just the tip inside you as he smooths a hand up your back; wordlessly asking if you're good to continue. You're as good as boneless, but manage to push back enough to encourage him. Sam's hand shift to your hips, literally holding you in place as he starts to slam into you. He must have only just been holding off, because only four, five thrusts later he's chanting your name as he comes.

Sam pulls out but you're too shattered to move, so you just stay there with your ass in the air while Dean strokes your hair. 

Your lack of reaction must have them worried; they're perfectly in sync when ask, "You okay?" 

You huff, your laugh distorted by your face smooshed against Dean's belly. "Fan-fucking-tastic," is your slurred response. You even manage to raise an arm enough to give a thumbs up.

"Oh-kay," Sam laughs, "Let's get you a bit more comfortable, hey?" Somehow he tips you into his arms.

"Lift with your knees, not your back, Sammy," Dean comments as he scrambles to his feet and moves to turn down the bedcovers. Sam murmurs something indistinct but probably unflattering as he lowers you onto the mattress. He hikes you further towards the centre of the bed before letting you go. "I'll be back in a minute."

You make a disappointed noise as you reach out blindly. Dean snags your hand and climbs in after you. "I'm always up for a cuddle. Shove over, you," he says before pulling up the covers and wrapping his arms around you. "Go to sleep, love," he says, "we'll set an alarm for dinner."


End file.
